I Was Present While You Were Unconscious
by CharWright5
Summary: Stiles had often thought about how he'd meet his soul mate, the literal muscular man of his dreams. He just didn't ever imagine finding him on Facebook where a friend had shared a news article about a werewolf John Doe in a coma after a car wreck 4 hours out of town. And he also didn't expect to bond and fall in love with the guy's family before ever saying 2 words to him out loud.
_Written for the Sterek AU Fest over on Fuck Yeah Sterek AUs Tumblr. Title from the movie_ The Avengers. _As_ _usual, I don't own_ Teen Wolf _or its characters. I just steal them and put them in other worlds and predicaments._

* * *

He'd had the dreams since he was sixteen, just like everyone else on the planet. Visions of his soul mate unfolding before him, telling him who he was fated to end up with.

Of course in the beginning, Stiles could barely remember the details. A flash of dark hair, eyes he was pretty sure were green—or maybe gray—the fact that his soul mate was a male—which was the cherry on top of the Big Bisexual Realization Sundae. But over the years as he had the dream more and more frequently, more details came to light and stuck with him. Eyes that were definitely green, thick expressive eyebrows laying over top of them, a sharp blade nose, strong jawline, just the hint of dimples when he smiled, his two front teeth slightly longer than the rest. He was as tall as Stiles, but wider built, more muscular, biceps that implied a huge amount of strength without being too big it was grotesque, flat pecs and a hint of a six-pack visible through the white tees he was always wearing.

Stiles also didn't really remember what exactly they did in the dreams, although the wet boxers he'd wake up with on occasion suggested that they sometimes got x-rated. He was pretty sure there were a few of just cuddling, sometimes his soul mate would nuzzle into the crook of his neck, grumbling about a lack of scent in the dreams, something that led Stiles to believe his soul mate was a werewolf—which was just beyond cool in all honesty. But any details about where they were or what they'd been doing always disappeared when he opened his eyes in the morning.

Not that it bothered him all that much. As long as he had a clear visual of who his soul mate was, it was all good in his books.

And the clear visuals he got—and had long since memorized—were what helped him out one morning when his Facebook news feed actually showed him his soul mate.

Or rather showed him John Doe.

A classmate from Stanford named Caitlin had shared a news article, commenting that she was giving it a signal boost in case anyone actually knew the guy, Stiles' eyes widening and his jaw dropping. His best friend Scott looked up from his own phone where he'd been texting Allison all afternoon—if the stupid grin on his face was anything to go by... and it was—looking at him with a curious frown as they sat on opposite ends of the couch in the Stilinski house.

"Dude, your heart rate just got ridiculously fast," he commented, werewolf hearing helping him keep an eye on his human friend's anxiety and mental health. "What happened?"

Stiles made like a goldfish, mouth opening and shutting repeatedly, trying to find the right words. But he couldn't. All he could do was gape at the photo connected to the article, at that familiar blade nose and sharp jawline and dark hair and thick eyebrows—and a whole lotta whiskers now apparently—all of it on a man laying fast asleep on a hospital bed. His heart was pounding at the sight of him while his chest constricted in worry, hating the image of the man with a beautiful smile and dimples laying there unconscious, in a hospital, with who the fuck knew what going on with him. The picture stopped at his upper chest so anything could be happening below the shot: broken ribs wrapped up, both arms and legs in casts, bag of blood hooked up for a transfusion. Maybe the photo had been snapped really fast and he was on a ventilator, machines doing all the breathing for him, his blood being run through dialysis, his heart set to a pace maker...

"Stiles?" Scott tried again, voice low, like he was dealing with a skittish animal. "Seriously? What's going on? Because your freaking out is making me freak out and I'm wor—"

"I found my soul mate," he murmured, finger reaching out to stroke the picture his face, clicking to open the article instead.

The werewolf drew his brows together, head tilting to the side slightly before a dubious smile formed on his face. "Well, that's a good thing, right?"

He shook his head, licking his lips, unable to tear his eyes away from the fragile man on his phone screen. "Not really," his voice cracked and he sniffed, hands trembling.

Scott slid over on the couch, his confusion growing, eyebrows furrowing further. Hooking his chin on Stiles' shoulder, he peered down at the screen, reading the headline aloud. "' _Unidentified Male in a Coma at Oak Creek General Hospital After Wreck._ '" His head reared back in surprise, eyes widening. "Whoa."

Stiles could only nod, eyes scanning the rest of the article, reading it in his head.

' _Oak Creek authorities are seeking help in identifying an unknown man who was brought into OC General Hospital after a tractor-trailer T-boned his 2012 Chevy Camaro at eleven-thirty-five the night of June thirteenth, leaving him unconscious and in critical condition. He's suspected to be between twenty-three and twenty-six years old, six-foot, and roughly two-hundred pounds. The man is also believed to be a werewolf although it is unclear if he's an alpha, beta, or omega. If anyone has any information that could help identify this man, they should call—_ '

"Dude, you should call," Scott suggested as he straightened up, happy-go-lucky grin on his face, making his crooked jaw even more noticeable.

Stiles snorted as he rolled his eyes, lowering his phone onto his lap. "And say what? 'Yeah, I dunno the guy's name or who his relatives are, but he's in my soul mate dreams so I _kinda_ know him'." He scoffed, shaking his head. "I don't see that working. Assuming they even believe me."

"But they _have_ to believe you!" Scott practically whined, chocolate brown eyes turning at the corners as he pleaded with the human, like it was up to Stiles whether or not people took him seriously when he said John Doe was his soul mate. "True love is at stake here, man!"

He wanted to roll his eyes, to scoff at his best friend's eternal optimism and sunshiny disposition, a stark contrast to Stiles' usual stormy outlook and cynical beliefs. It was easy for Scott to think the best because he'd had it easy, his soul mate transferring to their school less than a month after he'd started dreaming about her. The fact that they got along so well and had fallen in love was proof that the universe knew what it was doing.

But as much as Stiles wanted to scoff and snort and roll his eyes at Scott's habit of always looking on the bright side, he couldn't. Because there was a small part of him that was a hopeless romantic and was holding out for a Happy Ever After of his own.

But he knew better than to think authorities and hospital staff would just take his word for it that he was John Doe's soul mate and could he see him. Hell, even if through some miracle it _did_ work, what the hell would be step two? The guy was in a _coma_. Wasn't like Stiles could just introduce himself and ask if he wanted to grab some coffee.

Assuming the guy even _liked_ coffee.

Oh god. What if he was a _tea drinker_?

Stiles shuddered just to think about it.

"Dude," Scott prompted gently, nudging the human in his side with his elbow, head resting against the back of the couch and a serious expression on his face. And not the wide-eyed seriousness while saying something others would find outlandish and not as grave as he was making it out to be, but a kind of seriousness that reminded Stiles of the fact that they were now twenty and technical adults and that if he were being truly honest with himself, he'd know that for all Scott's puppy dog earnestness and sunny goofiness, he'd always been the more mature and grown up out of the pair of them, the leader.

Being bit by a rogue werewolf in high school and being forced to find an anchor before he chewed up half their small town certainly helped a long way in the whole maturation thing, too.

Stiles swallowed under the weight of his best friend's expression, under the heaviness of the moment. It wasn't what he'd expected things would feel like when he found his soul mate. When Scott saw Allison for the first time, it was practically a Disney movie, wide dimpled smiles and the sun shining in through the window and Stiles honest to god expected birds and chipmunks and bunnies to burst in the classroom and start singing about True Love. Lydia met hers when she tagged along with Stiles to the sheriff's station, just "having a feeling" and Stiles had never seen her grin as wide and as genuinely as she had when she set her eyes on Deputy Parrish. Kira had literally fallen on Malia, tripping down the stairs, something that led to a ton of puns, the two making heart eyes at each other automatically.

His friends all got rom-coms and fairy tales; he got the beginning of a fucking Lifetime drama.

Not that he was expecting the fairy tale, not with his luck and klutziness, but he figured he'd at least get a Kira-like story of literally falling for his soul mate.

Shoving his mental soliloquy aside, he focused on his best friend and all his serious earnestness, his puppy eyes and pleading brows and barely quirked up lips.

"You gotta at least _try_ ," Scott suggested, the quiver in his grin disappearing to form a more solid one as he became more sure of himself, of his words. "Since when do I have to tell you to do something crazy and ridiculous? You usually do this shit on your own and I have to talk you out of it." A small laugh left him as his smile grew, amusement sparkling in his eyes.

And it was true. Their relationship had always been based more on " _don't do the thing, Stiles_ " " _fuck you, Scotty, I'm doing the thing_ " so experiencing the reverse was definitely a change of pace, especially since Stiles never actually argued _against_ Scott's plans, just said they were dumb and went along with it anyway, like any attempt to woo Allison or win over her disapproving parents or that terrible fucking tattoo the werewolf got that he hated.

But this was his _soul mate_ they were talking about, _true love_ was potentially on the line, and—

And wasn't that an even bigger reason for doing this? Wasn't that an even greater excuse for a half-assed plan and a whole lot of craziness?

A little voice inside his head said ' _yes_ ' and he was loathe to ignore it.

Glimpsing down at the photo on his phone, he took in his soul mate's closed eyes, remembering how they looked when opened, the bright color in the irises, the crinkles that formed around them when he smiled wide and showed off those bunny teeth.

"All right," Stiles agreed lowly, clearing his throat, brow furrowing into a hard determined line. "I'm doing it. I'm getting my soul mate."

* * *

Convincing his dad to let him make the four hour trip to Oak Creek had been easier than he'd thought. Which was awesome, but Stiles couldn't help feeling a little bummed he couldn't use any of the arguments he'd thought up. And they'd been good ones, too, mentions of how he was an adult now and how his dad would get the house to himself for a little while there and potential true love was at stake here and what would his dad do if it had been his late wife in that hospital bed—a low blow, he knew, which was why he'd been saving that one for an absolute worst case scenario emergency.

But the moment Stiles had said he'd found his soul mate and that he was a John Doe up in Oak Creek currently in a coma in the hospital, his dad had just sighed and told him to go for it.

"Not like I'd be able to talk you out of it," the sheriff said, resigned to his kid's stubbornness and refusal to let shit go. "Besides, even if I say 'no' you'd still find a way to head up there anyway."

Stiles didn't bother arguing. They both knew it was true.

So he hurriedly packed a duffel full of clothes and toiletries, his cell phone charger and an emergency stash of money, rushing out with a quick hug to his dad and a text to Scott that even autocorrect couldn't fix with his hands shaking so badly. But his best bud was his best bud for a reason, translating it perfectly and wishing him luck.

Stiles felt like he'd need it.

* * *

Six hours after having found his soul mate online, Stiles was bursting into Oak Creek General, practically slamming into the front desk, panting wildly. The closer he'd gotten to Oak Creek, the more panicked he'd become, his mind working overdrive and freaking him the fuck out. What if his soul mate had taken a turn for the worst? What if some bitch showed and convinced the hospital staff _they_ were his soul mate? What if the guy had woken up and left? What if he was moved to a long-term care facility and Stiles would never be able to track him down?

By the time he'd parked his Jeep in the visitor lot, he was on the verge of an anxiety attack and his inability to breathe was made worse by the fact that he ran the entire length of the lot and up to the front desk.

Where he promptly collapsed, causing the nurse behind it to peer up at him where her head was bent over a clipboard, eyebrow raised in judgment and disdain.

"Can I help you?" she asked gruffly, sounding like she was hoping the answer would be 'no' and he'd disappear to wherever it was he'd come from.

' _Shit outta luck, bitch,_ ' he thought, heaving his torso off the counter and lifting his head to take her in.

The unamused bitch face was surrounded by tight copper curls, hair chopped right at her shoulders. She towered over him where he stood bent over with his forearms on the counter, wide built with a body that made her look like a double for Ronda Rousey. An air of authority and annoyance surrounded her and Stiles had the absent thought that she was nothing like the nice friendly nurses at Beacon Hills Memorial where his mom had spent her last days twelve years ago.

A sinking feeling was in his gut as he straightened to his full height, the nurse now just as tall as him, and he swallowed his nerves as he drummed his fingers on the counter in an anxious tick. "Yeah, I, uh. I'm looking for someone."

She glared down at his fingers and he snatched his hand away, folding his arms and hiding both appendages against his body before she pulled out a machete and chopped them off at the wrists. Narrowed eyes focused on his face and she heaved a great sigh, like dealing with him was the absolute worst thing she was ever forced to do. "Patient's name?" she inquired flatly, words she was instructed to give rather than said out of a genuine desire to know.

He winced at that, scratching a finger on his forehead then gesturing with an open palm, leg shaking in anxiety. "About that," he began, letting out a nervous laugh. His heart was pounding in his chest and he refolded his arms as though he could quell it, licking his lips and pressing them into a hard "You see, I—"

She slammed the clipboard on the counter, effectively shutting him up, crossing her own arms in a motion that was much more intimidating that his. "If you're here about John Doe, then you might as well stop wasting your time and mine and just leave," she barked at him, glaring harder than she had their entire conversation. "You aren't the first fool to come in here and claim he's your soul mate just because you saw his picture on the Internet or on the news and thought he was hot."

His mouth hung open and he let out a few choked off noise he was sure were supposed to be words, only he had no clue _what_ words. Because his mind was racing faster than ever, a tornado of anger at all these other people trying to take what was his and this nurse for being the ultimate cock block and not believing him, swirling together with upset over not being able to get to his soul mate and the disappointment of having come so far only to be turned away when he was only a few yards away.

"You don't understand," he absently murmured, arms falling to his sides, too heavy to hold up. Rejection was a cold lump in his throat and heartbreak was a million fractures in his ribs and sadness was an ache in his bones, all of it bringing the sting of tears to his eyes. He'd known it was gonna happen, had told Scott as much, yet it was nothing compared to the harsh bite of it actually happening and tearing a huge chunk out of him.

"Nooo, _you_ don't understand," the nurse ground out, hands on the counter as she leaned over, getting right in his face with her clenched jaw and flaring nostrils and narrowed eyes, causing Stiles to take a step back to get away from her. "I'm not some moron who's gonna fall for every doe-eyed sap who'll spout some bullshit about true love and soul mates. I've seen _While You Were Sleeping_ and I'm not letting some delusional nitwit come into _my_ hospital so they can recreate a cheesy nineties rom-com because they have stars in their eyes and got their panties in a flutter over some hottie they saw a picture of on the morning news."

Stiles stood there gaping, unsure how to respond, except to say he'd seen John Doe's picture on Facebook, not the news, but he didn't think that'd help him out. If anything, it would just make him seem even more like the apparent fangirls his soul mate had acquired since his photo had been released. Still, he had to say _something_ to make Nurse Bitch realize he was telling the truth and let him in.

Turned out, he didn't need to.

"There you are!"

Stiles' head snapped to his right at the sound of a female calling out, watching as a dark-haired woman in black skinnies and a red plaid—coincidentally what he was wearing—speed-walked her way over from a bank of elevators.

"We've been calling and calling and texting but you didn't get back to us," she went on, bright blue eyes focused on him—and only him—relief on her pale features. "We were worried sick you'd gotten in a wreck, too."

"Uhh," he eloquently replied, frozen stiff when she pulled him into a tight hug, painted red lips by his ear.

"Laura. Play along," she breathed directly into the lobe where only he could hear it.

His heart was pounding in nerves, no clue who this Laura person was or why he should play along. But something in his gut was telling him to trust her, to just roll with it. Worst case scenario, the chick was nuts and he put to use all those self-defense moves his dad made him learn.

With a mental " _fuck it_ ", he lifted his arms and wrapped them around Laura's trim waist, returning the tight hold she had around his shoulders. "Yeah, sorry," he muttered, doing as she said and playing along. "My phone died."

And because the universe liked making shit awkward for him, his phone chirped loudly in his pocket right as they pulled apart.

Out the corner of his eye, he could see the nurse raise her eyebrow in a dubiously judgmental fashion, staring at his jeans. He cleared his throat awkwardly, licking his lips before scrambling to cover the lie.

"But then I charged it and got all your messages and rushed right here. So." He gestured at Laura with an open palm then slipped both hands in his pockets and shrugged. "How is he?"

"You know this fool?" Nurse Bitch asked Laura with a scoff, eyebrow raised in the middle like she couldn't fucking believe it.

Really, Stiles couldn't believe it either but he wasn't gonna say anything.

Laura snapped her head at the nurse, scowling, eyes flashing beta gold. "Of course I fucking do," she practically growled. "It's my little brother's soul mate."

Stiles nodded, thinking the " _play along_ " instruction made sense. If he wanted to go see his soul mate—which he very fucking much did—he was gonna need someone to back him up in his claim, which Laura was doing as John Doe's sister.

Only there was one major question with the whole thing.

How the fuck did Laura know Stiles was her brother's soul mate?!

"Any more unnecessary questions?" Laura inquired, eyes narrowed, arms folded, and hip cocked out.

Nurse Bitch's jaw ticked as she worked it in anger, lips twisting, nostrils flaring, and she let out a harsh sigh through her nose. "No," she ground out, clearly not happy to be bested by someone else, whether it was because that someone was younger or a werewolf or just bested her in general, Stiles wasn't sure.

Laura put on a saccharine smile that was all teeth with a tiny hint of fang, eyelashes fluttering as she tilted her head to the side on a sweet manner. "Glad to hear," she replied in a voice that was so nice, it could only mean bad things—which he had plenty experience hearing thanks to his friendship with Lydia Martin—then wrapped her hands around his arm. "Now, if you'll excuse us, my brother is probably waiting for his mate to show up." With a final phony grin, Laura whirled around, long black hair flying and hitting Stiles in the face before she tugged him back to where the elevators were.

A man and his younger daughter were leaving one, all smiles and she all giggles, the father exhausted looking and promising to visit Mommy and baby brother the next day, and Laura gave them a genuine smile, Stiles echoing it as they stepped into the cart. She hit the button for the third floor, the doors hesitating to close, then leaned against the back wall with her hands clasped in front of her.

Stiles stared at the buttons, unsure if that was the floor he'd wanted, reality finally setting in. He'd made it past the ward at the gate, the dragon blocking the castle tower, and was making his way up to his soul mate as they slept, waiting to be woken up by—

No. Allison and Scott were the fairy tale, not him and John Doe.

But as relieved as he felt that he was able to go see him, he was also freaking the fuck out, his heart pounding and stomach flipping and skin tingling. Because he was about to see his _soul mate_ , in person, for the first time ever. And coma or not, this was _huge_.

Turning to his left, he found Laura watching him with pursed lips and a furrowed brow, curious, more than likely sifting through his chemosignals and trying to figure out what was going on with him.

"Anxiety is a regular thing for me," he commented lightly, scratching his forehead with a finger. "You should get used to that constantly being in my scent. I mean, I'm just assuming I'm gonna be hanging around, hopefully, so I thought you should know ahead of time so you aren't thinking it's anything personal or that I'm never comfortable around you guys or whatever."

She nodded slowly once as the doors slid shut, shrugging a shoulder under her flannel that was probably a size too big. "So you're okay with all of us being werewolves?"

"My best friend is a werewolf," he threw out nonchalantly. "Another one is a werecoyote, a third is a kitsune, my other best friend's ex is a wolf and I know his douchebaggery has nothing to do with being supernatural 'cause he was that was before he was bitten."

A small smile formed on her face and she seemed to relax a little. "Derek will be glad to hear that."

His heart skipped a beat at the name and he knew, he just _knew_ that he'd been right in trusting Laura and playing along with her charade, that she was the sister of John Doe, of his soul mate, of _Derek_.

The corner of his lips curled up, only to disappear when he thought about things further, when his earlier realization returned. "How'd you even know I'm his soul mate?"

A grin formed on her face, eyes glinting in a way that had nothing to do with the lighting. "I'll show you later. It'll be easier that way."

The elevator drew to a stop, dinging their arrival before the doors trundled open. She signaled him to follow with a nod of her head out the open doorway then stepped through it, Stiles following out of lack of options and a desire to know more.

The butterflies that had formed in his stomach when he left Beacon Hills grew in size and number, an army of pterodactyls wreaking havoc on his nerves like a scene out of _Jurassic World_. His hands were trembling so he shoved them in his pockets to hide it, wishing he could hide his pounding heart just as easily. As it was, he was having trouble keeping his breaths steady and even, his every exhale shaky, stuttered, as he tried to rein in his nerves.

Laura paused in her long strides, waiting for him to catch-up, then wrapped an arm around his upper-back, hands clasping his arms just below the shoulders. "It'll be fine," she assured him. "Derek's gonna be so glad to see you. Or I guess _hear_ you, given the whole coma thing." She seesawed her head then turned them down the left hallway at a four-way junction, a sign telling them rooms 311-320 and 321-330 were down there.

Although why they couldn't just list them altogether as rooms 311-330...

Hospitals were weird.

He swallowed back a lump threatening to swell his throat shut, forced away memories of spending parts of his childhood in a hospital visiting his mom, being by her side as she died in one, focusing on the here and now.

Where his soul mate lay in a coma somewhere on this floor.

At least he was assuming it was this floor. For all he knew, Laura was just taking him to some other room to eviscerate him solely out of boredom then use his bones to sharpen his claws.

Not that he thought all werewolves were like that, just a few, just like there were a few humans who hated the supernatural.

He shoved those thoughts aside, too, trying to remember if he packed his ADD meds. He was feeling more scatterbrained than usual.

Slipping his hands out his pockets, he tangled his fingers together in front of his stomach, thinking back to what Laura had just said and focusing on the conversation at hand. Right. The coma thing. Jesus Christ...

"How is he?" he asked tremulously, the fear of a bad answer and a long list of serious injuries causing that lump of nerves to form at the hollow of his throat again.

She took a shaky breath of her own, brows forming a hard line, staring straight ahead as they walked together. "His Camaro was hit on the driver's side, so there are a lot of broken bones along his left. But the docs set those right and they're already healing so he'll be fine. It's the head injury that they're worried about."

Stiles frowned at that, turning to look at her, Laura a couple inches shorter and forcing him to slightly tilt his head down, the top of her head hitting his cheek bones. "I didn't think werewolves could even slip into a coma in all honesty."

"They can when the brain injury is severe enough," she breathed out, pressing painted red lips together. "Apparently his head was hit pretty damn hard and the whiplash caused his brain to jar around in his skull. They think he should heal and believe that's what he's doing right now and why he's not waking up. But head injuries are tricky and hard to predict. One day you're fine, the next you have crazy vertigo and fall off something, or you're losing time and memories, blacking out, or you become incredibly depressed and kill yourself. If and when he does wake up, Derek's still got a long way to go."

Stiles nodded as he took that info in, brain injuries triggering something in the back of his mind that he refused to acknowledge, refused to think about. Instead, he contemplated the way Laura's grip seemed to tighten ever so slightly, not hard enough to bruise, clearly still conscious of the fragile human she was holding on to, but enough to make it seem like she was keeping hold of him so no one could rip him away.

Or so she could use him for support, he reevaluated, feeling more of her weight lean into him.

He managed to slip his left arm between their bodies, she releasing her hold on it, and wrapped it around the small of her back, fingers tangling in the loose fabric of her flannel at her hip. A small smile formed on her face that he caught out the corner of his eye, and she rested her head on his shoulder, he taking great care in his steps not to jostle her.

"I don't care how Derek feels about you," she admitted lowly as she turned them down another corner. "I'm keeping you around anyway."

A fond grin formed on his face, oddly comforted by the words of an essential stranger, his nerves calming only to start jumping a few moments later when they slowed to a stop outside room 315. The door was open, the TV on low, ESPN playing, the lighting mostly dim—which made sense, given _werewolves_ and their ability to see well in low lighting.

Laura dropped her arm from around Stiles, he doing the same, giving him a small reassuring smile before stepping inside the room. He took a deep breath, shoved a hand through his hair and tugged at the strands, then followed her in.

The walls were a pale blue, making the room feel peaceful, tranquil. To the right was a dark cherry cabinet, flat screen TV hanging off the wall right beside it, dry erase board below saying which nurse was on call, instructions on how to use the provided phone. A door was in the left corner that he assumed led to a bathroom, the wood closed over.

Directly ahead was a large armchair, currently occupied, the window to the left of it featuring closed blinds and drawn curtains. A brunet female was lounging on the beige armchair, legs draped over one arm, hair pulled back in a severe ponytail, brown eyes focused on her iPhone as her thumbs as danced across the screen.

"Shortest head-clearing walk I've ever heard of," she remarked, cocking an eyebrow without looking at the new arrivals, the action so remarkably like Laura's that Stiles figured this was another sister.

Laura shrugged, glancing to the left side of the room Stiles knew held a patient, but he refused to look just yet, too fucking scared to in all honesty. "I found someone and they distracted me."

With a final tap, the brunette locked her phone and lowered it to her lap, head raising to look at them, eyebrow cocking once more. "Your unfortunate style twin?"

Stiles folded his arms over his chest as he took in her outfit of an Iron Maiden baseball tee and blue jeans full of rips and tears and frayed spots that were clearly from being worn a lot and not having been bought that way. This chick clearly had no room to talk. Besides, flannel was a classic and it wasn't like he was wearing one of his old graphic tees that got him smacked upside the head by Lydia.

"No, dumbass," Laura said with a huff, rolling her blue eyes at her presumed sister. "Look at this guy." At that, she grabbed hold of Stiles' chin and jerked his head to the side, using her free hand to gesture to his cheek Vanna White style. "Tell me those moles don't look familiar."

The unknown female rolled her brown eyes—and her head—completely fucking done and over it. Heaving a sigh, she got up from the chair and thumped her way over, Converses slapping the ground with each step, speaking volumes on how much she really fucking didn't wanna do this. Unimpressed look on her face, she stopped a foot or so in front of Stiles, arms folded over her chest and hip cocked out, eyes half-lidded because she couldn't be bothered to open them all the way as she took him in.

"You found Derek's soul mate. Congrats," she said flatly, flopping her head to the side to focus on Laura like it was some great burden, the other female throwing her arms in the air in disbelief before letting them fall to her sides with a couple loud smacks. "I'm gonna go get that coke I asked you to get for me," she quipped, turning her attention back to Stiles. "Nice to meet you, whoever you are."

"Stiles."

Her eyebrow arched in disdain and disbelief, and she snorted, head rocking from the force of it. "Sorry to hear that." She patted his shoulder in a move he was sure was meant to be conciliatory, but had a little too much werewolf strength behind it and made him wince, inhaling sharply with a hiss between clenched teeth. If she notice his reaction, she didn't show it or seem to care, shooting the other female a phony smile before stepping around Stiles and leaving.

Laura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose momentarily as she shook her head then folded her arms and turned her attention to Stiles. "Ignore Cora. She entered her surly teenager phase at age twelve and is still stuck in it eight years later."

He shrugged it off, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans. Part of him was a tiny bit upset over it, bummed he hadn't gained her instant approval the way he seemed to have with Laura. But the bigger part of him knew it wasn't anything personal and he'd more than likely—hopefully—have another chance to win her over. Besides, it wasn't like he was there for Cora.

The reminder of that fact had his skin prickling all over and he was suddenly very aware of an unconscious body laying prone behind him, one he'd yet to actually _look_ at.

Baby steps.

An easy, friendly smile formed on Laura's face and she rubbed his upper-arm with more care than her sister had shown, seemingly more aware of the fragile human's low tolerance for pain and strength inflicted upon him. "I'm gonna go call my mom, update her on your arrival."

He nodded, licking his lips, tremulous smile forming on his face. Fuck, he'd forgotten about the whole parent thing, had stupidly not come to realize that the presence of Derek's sisters meant the rest of his family was sure to be around, too.

Shit.

There wasn't a handbook for this sorta thing and he didn't think he had time to Google how to handle meeting a soul mate's parents before being formally introduced to the soul mate themselves.

Only him, Stiles figured. This sorta shit would only happen to him.

"I'll let you guys get acquainted," Laura went on, glancing over his shoulder and giving a sad smile to her brother, the expression becoming kinder and more friendly when she refocused on Stiles. "They say coma patients can hear when someone talks to them. I don't know if that's true or not, but it couldn't hurt to just introduce yourself or something." She shrugged, sweeping a hand through her long straight hair then folding her arms. With a final smile, she stroked his arm again then turned and left the room, closing the door behind herself.

The hustle and bustle of the hospital hallways immediately cut off when the wood clicked into place, the rooms all soundproofed for the rare times when a supernatural person was admitted. The low murmur of the TV seemed louder, Stiles glaring at the flat screen as a group of analysts discussed football during their daily hour-long show, despite it being June and the NFL not opening training camps for another two months, but god forbid baseball get attention while it was actually in season.

He was getting off-track, he knew he was. But it was better than thinking about his current situation, about the fact that his soul mate was laying comatose only a few feet behind him. Digging the heels of his palms into his eyes, he took a deep breath, trying to get a grip. He could do this. He handled his mom's illness, handled his dad getting shot, handled his best friend getting bitten and going feral for a moment there—full moons, always fun. But he survived all that in one piece, granted it hadn't been easy, but he'd come out the other side a better, stronger person. The situation was exactly the same.

Nodding to himself, he licked his lips and turned around, determination setting his features. The wall was the same pale shade of tranquil blue as the rest of the room—not that he was expecting any different. In the middle of it was a bed that he promptly skipped his eyes over, focusing instead on the cherry cabinets on either side, squat magenta lamps on each, both lit and giving the area a soft glow. A cot was set along the back wall, the end of it hitting the beige curtains, a pillow and folded blanket sitting untouched on top. The opposite side featured another beige armchair much like the one Cora had been inhabiting, a couple cherry wood chairs with beige cushion seats lined up against the wall itself.

With another deep breath, Stiles slowly approached the bed itself, taking in the standard railings, the off-white plastic frame, the mattress raised by the patient's head so he was laying at an incline. He resisted the urge to grab hold of the clipboard attached at the end, to nose and pry into confidential medical records—not that he'd find much, given the fact that the patient was a _werewolf_ , but still—finally looking at the man himself.

Holy shit.

Derek was even more beautiful in person than he had been in the dreams, something Stiles had thought would've been impossible. Yet there it was, there _he_ was, in all his chiseled jaw, sharp cheekboned glory. Long lashes lay against his cheek, thick eyebrows relaxed, blade nose above an oxygen tube. His whiskers were more prominent in person than they had been in the photo Stiles had seen, long but clearly taken care of, neatly trimmed like he'd had them for a while and hadn't just recently started growing them out.

Stiles let his eyes travel further south, taking in a sharp collarbone, revealed by the bandages wrapped around his chest, most likely compressing broken ribs. His arms were heavily tattooed, full sleeves covering the flesh, and his lips parted with a smacking noise when he realized what the images were: the Avengers.

And not just the Avengers. No, these were comic style images, each character set inside various sized and shaped squares and rectangles like the frames of a graphic novel. His right arm was dedicated to the heroes, Captain America throwing his shield near his shoulder, Iron Man blasting one of his hand repulsors at an unknown combatant right below, Thor raising Mjolnir to the sky on the inside of his forearm, the end of Spidey's foot rounding the corner, his web stuck to the corner of his frame. The left arm was all villains: Ultron surrounding by the silhouettes of his flying robot army, Red Skull holding the Tesseract and grinning victoriously, the top of Loki's infamous horned headgear peeking out from the splint wrapped around Derek's forearm.

"Damn, dude. Nice ink," Stiles breathed out, ducking and moving to try and get a better look at each frame without moving Derek's arm. Because despite the whole coma thing, Stiles was still afraid of waking him up, afraid that his touch would be unwelcome.

Okay, yeah, he knew they were soul mates. Just looking at Derek proved this to him, the way his heart was pounding and those pterodactyls in his tummy were rioting even more, it all proved it. But that didn't mean he could feel the guy up while he was unconscious, even if it was just turning his arm to get a better look at his ink.

Ink Stiles didn't even know the guy had.

 _Avengers_ ink at that.

He wasn't sure if love at first sight was a thing, but he was starting to maybe believe in it.

Swallowing hard, he moved his eyes back up to Derek's face, noting how his eyes were twitching behind the lids as though he was dreaming. And maybe he was. Maybe he was getting some nice restful sleep. Maybe Stiles should just back away and leave him alone.

No. He didn't drive four fucking hours just to slink away with his metaphorical tail between his legs.

He licked his lips, nodding to himself for no real reason, fingers nervously drumming against his thigh. "Uh, hi," he managed to get out, waving then immediately feeling idiotic for it. Derek couldn't fucking see him wave. He clasped both hands in front of his chest, fingers of one hand drumming against the other, nodding anxiously again. "I'm Stiles. I'm your soul mate, something your sister apparently knew when she looked at me."

He frowned at that, peering over his shoulder at the still closed door. He never did get an explanation from Laura about how she recognized him. He'd have to remember to ask her when she returned.

"Your nicer sister," he clarified as he turned back to Derek. "Laura. I think she said she's the older one? And she kinda implied Cora's about twenty and the hospital thinks you're about mid-twenties, so I guess you're the middle child, huh?" He let out a nervous laugh, feeling idiotic again for the ramble, and he smeared his hand down his face in an effort to shut himself up.

With a sigh, he stepped over to the nearby armchair and lowered himself onto the edge of it, elbows on his knees, hands still clasped. "I guess I should maybe tell you about myself," he suggested with a shrug. "I'm twenty, currently attending Stanford and studying criminal justice. My dad's the sheriff of Beacon County—oh, that's where I live, in Beacon Hills, about four hours north of here. Yeah, I saw your photo on my Facebook feed and knew you were my soul mate so I hopped in my Jeep and came here." He gestured to Derek with an open palm. "It's no fancy Camaro like you have—or used to have, I guess. I think they said it was totaled. But yeah, anyway, my Jeep. It used to be my mom's, she died when I was eight. Frontotemporal dementia." He shrugged a shoulder as he ducked his head, staring at his hands where his fingers were tangling together between his spread knees. "It's probably dumb, but driving Roscoe—that's what I named my Jeep, by the way—driving him just makes me feel closer to her in a weird way."

Stiles let his head completely hang, shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. "You should probably get used to the rambles," he muttered, laughing self-deprecatingly. "They happen a lot. My friend Lydia keeps threatening to carry around duct tape just so she could use it to tape my mouth shut and get some peace." He smirked in amusement, raising his eyes to take in the still sleeping form before him.

Derek was completely still as he laid there, the steady rise and fall of his chest the only thing that gave away the fact that he was still alive. The TV was playing some ad for erectile dysfunction pills, drowning out the sound of his IV as it dripped on the opposite side of the bed from Stiles, the heart rate monitor silenced as the green line repeatedly drew the right zigzag pattern that meant everything was in perfect working order. The knowledge of that put Stiles at ease and he felt some of the weight on his chest lighten up.

"Now we just need you to wake up so we can officially meet," he commented with a sad smile, reaching over to poke his forearm right over Spider-Man's foot.

The door suddenly burst open and he shot up to his feet, heart pounding, feeling like he was busted doing something he wasn't supposed to. But no, he was invited there, was allowed to be in that room, had been left alone by the man's older sister. And given how protective werewolves were of their pack, clearly it'd been a huge sign of trust to be unsupervised with one while in such a vulnerable state. Hunting the supernatural had technically been outlawed since the revelation of the supernatural as something more than just scary stories and cheesy b-movies, but that didn't mean it didn't still happen. If there was a law, there was someone breaking it, hence his dad still having a job and Stiles himself studying to join his old man at the sheriff's department.

But he wasn't doing anything wrong, hadn't been breaking any laws or doing anything inappropriate with an unconscious man, so there was no need for him to be so freaked out.

Yet he was.

His heart was racing out of control, the pterodactyls were wreaking havoc once more, and his hands were shaking as he wiped them on the sides of his jeans.

The female who entered wasn't one he recognized, not entirely. But he knew the blade nose she had that matched Derek's and the blue eyes that matched Laura's and the tan skin that matched Cora's. She was tall like they all seemed to be as well, thick black hair hanging down to her shoulders in choppy layers, lean biceps revealed by a sleeveless white blouse, black peasant skirt swishing around biker boots with flat soles. An air of authority swirled around her, leading Stiles to believe she was not only their mom, but their alpha as well, and he found himself swallowing hard and wanting to bare his neck to her in submission.

Probably not a normal reaction, given that he was _human_ , but that was how fucking powerful she was, how powerful she seemed.

And that was with her own head ducked as she stared down into a large purse, rifling around for something, paper bags of fast food clutched in her free hand.

"Laura, did I leave my phone here with you? Because I can't seem to—" She paused, both in words and actions, hand freezing in her bag and feet practically skidding to a halt. Her nostrils flared as she scented the air, head snapping up, narrowed eyes zeroing in on Stiles. "You're not Laura."

He wanted to snort out a "no kidding", but held back, knowing it wasn't appropriate on any level, figuring it'd be better to ease her into the fact that he was a sarcastic little shit. "Uh, no, ma'am, Alpha, Alpha-ma'am." He jerked forward a couple steps, right hand raising, lowering, raising, lowering, as everything he knew about werewolf etiquette flew right out the fucking window. Was it okay to offer his hand to shake or was that offensive to werewolf culture? Was he supposed to bare his neck or would that be interpreted as mocking?

God, he wanted his mom.

Nothing against his dad, just moms had a knack for making shit better, easier, less awkward. Before the disease ate her brain, Claudia Stilinski had exuded grace and charm, was liked by the entire town, human and supernatural alike, and had been a big part of the campaign that had gotten her husband elected to sheriff. There wasn't a doubt in Stiles' mind that she'd be able to handle this situation, cover for him, save his ass before he completely blew it in front of his possible future mother-in-law.

Fucking hell, thinking that wasn't helping to calm him down. His heart rate kicked up a notch, chest tightening and making it hard to breathe, his vision going fuzzy around the edges.

Oh shit. Not good.

The alpha looked him up and down as she gave up rooting through her purse, eyes still narrowed, assessing, nostrils flaring as she scented the air around him.

"The anxiety in my chemosignals is normal," he blurted out, feeling the need to defend himself, explain himself, so that she didn't judge him too harshly for being a weak, scared, puny little human.

A grin formed on her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes, blue eyes dancing in mirth. "It usually is when meeting one's future in-laws," she agreed with a smirk, shooting him a wink.

His jaw dropped and he stood there gaping, pointing a shaky finger at her. "You—you—you know who I am?"

She stepped over to the end of Derek's bed, where his table had been pushed back, placing the food bags on top. "More or less," she clarified, setting her purse next to the paper bags then turning to him. "I know you're my son's soul mate. I don't, however, know your name."

"Stiles Stilinski. Ma'am." He made another aborted move to offer his hand to her, grimacing at his uncertainty over what to do.

She breathed out an amused laugh, offering her own hand. He relaxed, shoulders losing some of the tension he wasn't aware they'd gained when she'd stepped into the room, and he slid his palm into hers. "It's nice to meet you, Stiles. I'm Talia Hale."

His eyes widened to a comical size as her name struck a familiar chord inside his mind, a million thoughts and facts racing through it as he struggled to come to grips with whose hand he was...well, gripping.

"Holy shit!"

Yeah, not what he wanted to say.

"I mean, um, shit." He grimaced as he slipped his hand free, using both to cover his face. "Crap. Not what I meant to say. Sorry." He dropped his hands, then used them to gesture to her. "It's just. You're kind of this legend in the supernatural community, your whole family is. Like, you're practically legends the way the Ito Pack talks about you. I just wasn't expecting to meet any of you, like, ever."

"Well," she began, smirking once more, folding her arms over her chest. "Hopefully we're living up to the hype."

"Oh you're way better." He dismissed her worries with a wave of the hand, completely honest in his statement despite the blasé tone he used to utter it.

She laughed again. "Glad to hear," she muttered, distracted as she turned her head to the door.

He followed her line of sight, watching as it opened and Laura strode in, glancing around the room until her eyes landed on her mom and she narrowed them.

"Way to answer your phone, Mother," she grumbled, hands on her hips, eyebrow cocked.

Talia rolled her eyes, returning to her purse and searching through it again. "I misplaced it."

"I have it," Cora stated as she walked in, wiggling the device in her hand. "Battery died on mine and if I had to watch one more second of ESP-fucking-N, I was gonna steal some of Derek's bandages and use them to hang myself in the shower."

The other Hale females rolled their eyes and heads in perfect synchronization, apparently used to Cora's overdramatic statements.

The matriarch turned to Stiles, eyebrow cocked in inquiry, lightly painted lips twisted to the side in a wry grin. "Still wanna mate into this nuthouse?"

Stiles glanced at the still unconscious man on the bed, thought of their interactions in his dreams, of the way his heart was pounding and stomach was knotting just _looking_ at him. "Yeah," he murmured. "I do."

* * *

Cora was sent to fetch more food as punishment for swiping her mom's phone, part of her share given to Stiles in the meantime. He told them about himself, his going to school and future career goals, his dad and his mom's passing, his friends and life in Beacon Hills, the Hales also talking about themselves. Talia was lawyer specializing in Supernatural Rights cases, the go-to for suing over discrimination and violations of laws that'd been put in place to protect the supernatural. Laura was a high school educator who taught supernatural culture and history, explaining the differences between various creatures and their customs. Stiles thought of his own time in that course, thinking Ms Morrell would've been disappointed in how he'd reacted to meeting an alpha. Cora was a body piercer at a tattoo shop Derek owned, a couple of his friends working there as artists, one of whom—a girl named Erica—had done his ink based on his drawings.

Stiles made a mental note to compliment her whenever he met her. It was some damn good work.

The hours passed by with easy conversation and a bunch of laughs as they got to know one another, _NFL Today_ giving way to _Around the Horn_ then _Pardon the Interruption_ , followed by _SportsCenter_ , and all too soon a nurse—thankfully not the bitch from earlier—was knocking on their door and telling them visiting hours were over, that only one person could spend the night.

The joyful mood that had been in the room disappeared, quickly turning somber as they all looked at one another. Talia clapped her hands together then held them in front of her, forcing the corners of her lips up.

"Well, I think Stiles should have the first night," she suggested, turning blue eyes on him, his heart skipping a beat at her idea. "Unless you have a hotel to check into or something?"

His eyes widened momentarily and his lips parted without his knowledge. He hadn't even thought of finding a place to stay, hadn't really thought of anything past just showing up at Oak Creek General.

Brilliant idea really. Well thought out plan. Genius.

"I, uh," he started then stopped, wincing as he wrung the back of his neck. "I don't really have anywhere to stay," he admitted, gesturing to them with an open palm. "But one of you should stay tonight. He's your family and he'd probably feel better if he woke up next to a familiar face rather than a stranger."

"You're sure?" Talia double-checked, giving him a pointed look, and he nodded, heart rate steady. She nodded thoughtfully in reply, lips pressing together to smear whatever remained of her pale lipstick. "Okay. But you're staying with us. No hotels or motels or anything like that. Chances are you'll be pack one day and pack takes care of their own."

He nodded, accepting her offer. Certainly took care of that problem.

"I'll stay with him," Laura volunteered, giving him a smile and a wink. "I feel like we've bonded."

Meaning she had more embarrassing stories to tell him about Derek.

But he was grateful for her proposition, agreeing that he felt more comfortable with her. Cora still made him a little nervous with her surly attitude and behavior of being just done with everything, and he was still slightly intimidated by Talia's alpha-ness. Having Laura around would definitely make him feel better and more at ease, having a buffer of sorts around.

"I'll stay with Der," Cora offered, raising a hand slightly. " _If_ someone agrees to bring me a charger tomorrow."

More eye-rolling, Stiles joining in this time.

"That settles it. Cora stays tonight and the rest of us will stop by when visiting hours begin tomorrow morning and bring breakfast," Talia summed up, the youngest Hale opening her mouth to object. " _And_ a charger," she added on with a pointed look aimed at her daughter.

Hugs were exchanged between the three women, Talia and Laura both walking over to kiss Derek's forehead and wish him a good night. Stiles stood to the side feeling awkward, part of him wanting to do the same—because _soul mate_ —but not entirely sure if he was allowed to, if it was appropriate for him to. He caught Cora giving him an assessing look, eyes narrowed and lips thinned, but he ignored any and all implications of her expression, glancing around the room.

"Do you need a ride, sweetie?" Talia questioned, drawing his attention, and he shook his head.

"My Jeep's in the parking lot."

She nodded once with a smile. "Okay. Just follow us then," she instructed, slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder and heading to the door, Laura right behind her.

Stiles gave one last glance at Derek's unconscious form, mentally wishing him a good night and strangely hoping he didn't wake in the night. He wanted to be there when his soul mate first opened his eyes.

Gnawing on his bottom lip, Stiles headed out the door, following the two Hale females to the elevators.

* * *

Laura rode with Stiles in his Jeep, just in case he was separated from Talia's Range Rover by traffic or ill-timed stoplights. He brought up the fact that she still hadn't explained how seemingly the entire family knew who he was and she reiterated her earlier statement of showing him versus telling him, promising it would happen when they got home. She then immediately changed the subject to the Hale house itself, how Cora was the only kid who still lived there, but they all convened there around holidays or major events—this clearly being one of them. Derek apparently had a loft apartment downtown, while Laura had a small townhouse in a more suburban area of Oak Creek.

The Hale homestead was a large manor located in a densely forested area just barely within city limits, a Colonial style house surrounded by sequoias and redwoods, white with black shutters and a large porch that took up the entire front facade of the place, a swing on one side, rocking chairs on the other. Laura directed him to the side of the clearing, Stiles following worn patches in the grass in order to find where to park, stopping to the left of a black Audi she claimed was hers.

The inside was just as grand as the outside, hunter green walls and oak wainscoting, the floors a dark cherry. A staircase greeted them upon first entering, raising up to a landing that split in both directions, hallways disappearing behind open doorways. Archways were underneath it and Stiles caught a glimpse of French doors, lights illuminating a brick patio with wrought iron furniture and a stainless grill. To the left were glass doors revealing a den, large flatscreen above a mantelpiece, oversized couches forming a U shape that took up most of the space. To the right was an open door that gave a peek into an office, an open file left forgotten on top of a behemoth of a desk, burgundy leather chairs seated in front, a larger one behind it, spun to the side where someone had gotten up in a rush.

He was offered a drink, food, anything, all of which he turned down, adjusting his grip on his duffel where it lay slung over his shoulder, pillow tucked under his arm. The adrenaline and hectic panic of the day was wearing off, leaving him tired and craving a bed of some form where he could crash.

Talia bid them both goodnight, stating she had some calls to make in her office, and promised to give Stiles a grand tour of the estate—her words—the next day, something he gave a small smile to. She kissed both of their foreheads in a maternal manner before turning with a swirl of black cotton and hair, boots silent on the wood floor as she entered the office and shut the door behind herself.

Laura led him upstairs and down the left hallway, opening the third door on the left, one with _DJH_ carved into the wood, and he followed her in. The walls were a royal blue, reminding him of the Mets, furniture all oak. The bed was in the middle of the wall opposite the door, nightstand on either side, the blue and white plaid comforter covering the pillows like in a hotel room. A desk was to the immediate right of the door, shelves on the wall above it, a few books still left on them. To the far right was a bureau, a window on either side of it, a Captain America poster still on the wall between them. The wall on the left featured another door then louver doors he assumed led to a closet, Deadpool poster in the middle.

The room itself smelled good, as though it was still cleaned regularly, no dust to be found or smelled, at least not to his human nose. Instead, it was filled with a pleasant combination of leather, coffee, and pine, a light musk that said a man lived here. And given the comic book characters that still decorated the walls, Stiles had a good feeling who used to inhabit the space.

"Derek's old room?" he surmised, letting his duffel slide down his arm and drop onto the bed before tossing his pillow where the others lay.

Laura nodded, thumbs hooked on her back pockets. "I figured neither of you would mind," she admitted with a slight shrug. "Given what you are to each other."

He made like a bobble-head, licking his lips as he glanced around, eyes ending on her. "You promised you'd explain shit to me when we got here." He held his arms out, gesturing to the room at large, then let them fall to his sides. "We're here."

She drew in a long breath between parted lips, blowing it out slowly. "I did," she agreed, scuffing her feet as she made her way to the louver doors, opening one up to reveal a predicted closet, shelf empty, wooden rod holding a few bare hangers. Crouching down, she stepped inside and pried up a floorboard, reaching inside. "You didn't see this and I didn't show it to you," she stated, pointing a finger at him in warning as she drew out a leather bound book then rose to her feet.

He held his hands up in innocence and supplication, following her lead when she sat on the bed, the two of them turned to face one another.

She placed the book on her lap, one leg folded up and laying flat on the bed, Stiles mirroring her, his eyes focused on what she'd taken out. It was a little bigger than a notebook now that he was getting a good look at it, the cover worn and discolored in places from frequent uses, a length of leather rope wrapped around it and tied to keep it together. His curiosity piqued, wondering what exactly was held within and what it had to do with him or his soul mate connection to Derek.

"Okay, so you know how we told you Derek was a tattoo artist?" she began, he nodding in response. "Well, he's also an incredible traditional artist. Drawings, paintings, watercolors, oil, acrylic, pastels, whatever, he kicks ass at it all. He's had a several pieces displayed at a gallery here in town and has even sold a few. If he hadn't gotten into tattoos, chances are he'd be in San Francisco or LA or New York, some big city like that, making a shit-ton of cash as a highly demanded and sought after artist."

Stiles nodded slowly, both impressed and confused, not entirely sure where she was going with her spiel.

"As it is, he's great at portrait tattoos, can really capture the essence of whoever it is he's inking," she went on, untying the leather strap. "And even when he's not working on a piece for a client, he's still drawing and sketching and such, and one of his favorite things to draw is you."

His eyebrows high-fived his hair line, shock causing his heart to stutter a few beats before picking up its rhythm at twice its normal speed. "Me?" he double-checked dubiously, hand on his chest as he gaped at her.

She nodded, opening what was apparently a sketchbook to the first page, Derek's name and address scrawled in messy handwriting. Turning, she moved so she was sitting closer, the sketchbook moved so they could both look at it properly. Then she flipped to the first page of actual art.

"Details are forgotten when you first have the dreams, everyone knows that," she stated, hand smoothing over the pages of rough pencil sketches, a collection of moles, an eye, the line and upturn of a familiar nose that was so close to real life that Stiles drew a finger down the actual body part of himself.

"But he said he didn't wanna forget any of what he _could_ remember when he woke up, so he'd draw it every morning, before coffee or showering or anything," she further explained, turning the page to reveal more moles, the stretch of Stiles' neck, both his eyes, crinkled at the corners from laughing.

"He drew me?" he asked in awe and disbelief, eyes flitting about the page, taking note of the date scribbled by each individual sketch, watching as Laura turned the page. He saw his jawline, his ear, his eyes again, more moles.

"Every morning," she said with a small smile, flipping the sheet to show an entire page of just Stiles' eyes, these colored, some crossed out, angrily scribbled over, scrawled words over the shade of brown being wrong, not light enough, not the right hue, not enough gold.

She kept turning the pages, Stiles taking in countless sketches of his moles, Derek doodling shapes in them like connect-the-dots, even more drawings of his neck and throat, a few of his hands, his eyes, his nose.

About a third of the way through was the first drawing of his whole face and he inhaled sharply at it. It wasn't perfect, a few moles out of place, his nose a little off, eyes a tiny bit too close together. The next was better, the third an exact likeness of him that it was almost as though someone had taken a picture of him and used some sort of sketch-filter to turn it into a drawing.

"I caught him drawing you on some scrap piece of paper one afternoon when he was supposed to be doing homework and I pretty much just snatched it from him and showed everyone," she confessed, not seeming remorseful about her actions in the slightest. "Mom praised him, said he did an incredible job—not that we had anything to compare it to, of course. For all we knew, it could've been totally wrong and the complete opposite of how you look." She shrugged a shoulder, sweeping her hair back and tucking it behind an ear. "But Mom always doted on Derek because he's the only boy and he always ate it up, total Mama's boy. After that he grew more comfortable showing us some of his sketches of you. There's even a full color sketch in Mom's office that Derek apparently hates because he still couldn't get your eye color right. Not that it matters."

Stiles just nodded dumbly, watching as another set of sketches was revealed, him smiling widely in one, the other with his hand over his face and his head tilted back, long neck on display once more.

"He kept these private, but I snooped and found his secret hiding stash one day, because that's what older sisters do," she stated with a smirk and wink before sliding the sketchbook onto Stiles' lap. "But that's how I knew who you were. Because I'd seen you before." She seesawed her head and bobbed her eyebrows. "More or less."

He smiled, fingers sliding down the yellowed edge of the page reverently as he looked down at the drawings on them. "I'm glad," he murmured, peering up at her. "I wouldn't have been let up to see him had you not been there and recognized me."

"Well, just remember to thank me in your wedding speech and we'll call it even." She grinned, nudging his side with her elbow, mindful still of her werewolf strength. He nudged her back, an elbow war breaking out and she ended it with a laugh, rising to her feet and adjusting her plaid around her waist.

"Bathroom is through there," she explained, pointing to the still closed door. "My room's on the other side of it, meaning we have to share it. Just remember to lock the door before doing your business and unlock it when you're done and we shouldn't have any issues."

He nodded, finding the concept of sharing a bathroom kinda weird. Aside from the communal ones he had to use at school, but he didn't think that counted, considering he couldn't really lock the doors there, just the stall.

She gave him another smile and a wave, bidding him goodnight then heading to the hallway door, only to pause and turn back when he called her name.

"Thanks," he told her sincerely. "For everything."

A soft smile formed on her face, her hands in her back pockets. "No problem," she replied. "I just know that if I were in Derek's shoes, I'd want someone to keep my mate around."

"Makes sense," he agreed, scratching at his forehead with a finger. And while he didn't have siblings he would do the same for, he knew he'd do it for his best friends. And he'd take credit for it, too, just like Laura seemed to be doing with her comment over thanking her in his wedding speech.

Then again, he did take credit for introducing Lydia to Parrish...

Goodnights were exchanged once more before Laura left for good, closing the door behind her and shutting Stiles in Derek's bedroom.

Putting the sketchbook to the side with care, he changed into the pajamas he'd packed, then took advantage of the bathroom being available, going through his nightly routine before climbing into bed. The sheets were cold from disuse and he shivered slightly as he got comfy, pillows—with his own on top, of course—propped up behind him, sketchbook back in his lap and he slowly went through them, more and more in awe with each drawing.

Full-body sketches soon joined, Stiles dressed in generic pants and tees that he assumed he wore in the dreams they shared. A few drawings of specific body parts littered pages, more of his neck, an entire two page spread dedicated to his hands, another spread of just his lips, parted, bitten, stretched into a smile.

Three-quarters of the way through the sketchbook, the drawings became more graphic. Of course it started out light, Stiles' tongue licking his lips, his neck with a bite on it, half-lidded eyes and a smirk on Stiles' face as he beckoned someone closer. Then it was a mole-speckled hand wrapped around a hard cock, colored hickeys and bruises littering his neck, head thrown back and lips parted. There were sketches of his ass, both in pants and out of them, large hands gripping onto his cheeks and parting them, red hand-prints where he'd been spanked. There were full body drawings of him naked, stretched out, one hand covering his cock, another with his hand reaching further down.

It was when he reached a sketch of himself with a cock by his parted lips, come decorating his face that he finally slammed the sketchbook closed and set it to the side, his heart racing and his dick hard in his flannel pajama pants. Stiles could never remember the details of what they did together in those dreams, just flashes of cuddles and kisses that were PG-13 at most. He was only aware of anything more explicit when he woke up with stained pants.

And he knew that if _he_ couldn't remember any of that, then chances were that Derek couldn't remember either. Which meant those sketches were purely Derek's imagination, all the ways he _wanted_ to see Stiles, not the ways he _had_ seen him—or remembered seeing him at least. And while it was nothing Stiles hadn't already seen in porn, there was just something even more explicit about it. Maybe because it involved him, because it was a fantasy he was starring in rather than creating himself as he jerked it in the shower.

Part of him pointed out that he should be pissed, upset that he was drawn in such an illicit manner, that he was being glorified in such a sleazy way, that he was being sexualized without his permission.

But he couldn't be.

He didn't know why, couldn't explain it. Possibly because all his blood had pooled between his legs, but whatever. He just knew that he was... _flattered_. For once, someone saw him as more than a friend, saw him in a sexual way, fantasized about him as something more than just someone to carry their bags or hold open the door or help with homework or get rid of their virginity with.

He was _wanted_.

With that thought in mind, he sank further down in the bed, covers up to his shoulders, and stroked himself inside his pants, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he hoped like hell Laura didn't pay too much attention to the way his heart was racing and figured out what he was doing.

* * *

His surroundings were nothing but white-wash, to the point where Stiles almost felt sun-blind and it took him a moment to adjust. There was no furniture to be seen, just white walls and an equally white fluffy carpet, and the world's comfiest couch—also in white—that he was sitting on.

"There you are," came a soft murmur from his left and he turned his head to find his soul mate—to find _Derek_ slouching next to him, one bent leg laying flat on the couch, head resting against the back of it, lazy grin on his face. He was dressed in the usual white tee and soft looking light blue jeans, the hue standing out starkly against the colorless sofa, his feet bare.

As were his arms, his tattoos no longer there, just inches of tan flesh. And the whiskers adorning his face in real life were gone, too, making him appear much younger, dimples visible on his otherwise smooth cheeks. It was strange to see after having spent the day sneaking glances at the real thing, admiring his tattoos, drooling over his neatly trimmed beard. Seeing him without them was like hanging out with his twin. His just as hot and still very fucking attractive twin.

Besides, tattoos or not tattoos, beard or no beard, this was still his soul mate, the man he was destined to be with. His pounding heart and twisting stomach didn't care about whiskers or ink, just that it was him and that he was there.

"Derek," he breathed out, smile forming on his face as he turned on the couch, shuffling until his own head was against the back of it, legs tucked up close.

Full eyebrows furrowed into a confused frown, eyes narrowing slightly as they took him in. "How do you know my name?"

Shit.

His eyes went wide, heart pounding for an entirely different reason, and Derek's eyes flipped down to stare at Stiles' chest, confused expression growing further. Okay, there was no reason for the human to be nervous, no need for him to feel like he'd done something bad. Sure, in dreams one never knew their soul mate's name and he'd just blurted out Derek's, but that wasn't anything for him to feel guilty about.

Stiles licked his lips then swallowed hard, trying to calm his racing heart, reminding himself that he hadn't done anything wrong. Really, him using Derek's name was a sign of something good. After all, there had to be a reason why he was remembering it in his unconscious state.

"Laura told me it," he explained, watching as the werewolf's eyes went wide.

"You—you met Laura?" he asked in a quavering voice, corners of his lips quivering with uncertainty over whether or not he should smile.

So Stiles smiled for him, an easygoing grin, showing him it was okay, that there was nothing to be worried or upset about. "Yeah," he replied gently, his own voice even and sure. "And Cora and your mom. They're really nice and seem to like me and I like them, too. Even Cora and her prickly personality."

Derek breathed out a laugh, smile on his face as he ducked his head, eyes focused on his lap, before his expression grew serious once more. "You've met them and hung out with them long enough to know you like them, but you haven't met me yet."

The human winced, scratching at his forehead with a finger before dropping it back onto his lap. "Yeeeeah. I, uh. I kinda met you. In a way."

Derek lifted his head, confusion clear in his pulled brow and parted lips. "When? How? How do I not remember that?"

Stiles glanced around, at the white walls and the white ceiling and the white floor, feeling as though they should be different. He got the sense that he was breaking some sort of barrier, an actor crashing through the fourth wall, knowing there was an unmentioned line he wasn't supposed to cross but fucking long-jumping over it anyway.

But he didn't care. Because Derek looked lost and hurt and scared and dammit, if there was something Stiles could do to change that, he was gonna fucking do it.

No matter the cost.

"You, uh," he began, wringing the back of his neck before sliding his hand over Derek's, fingers wrapped over the werewolf's palm. "You're in a coma right now. There was so article online with your photo and I recognized you so I went to the hospital where you're at. That's where I met your family."

The older man looked dubious, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. His green eyes grew brighter, shinier, wetter with unshed tears and Stiles felt like a giant ass for upsetting him like that. "A coma?"

"Yeah. But you're gonna be okay," he rushed to add. "Being a wolf saved your life, but you need time to heal. So. Coma."

Derek nodded, thoughtful pull to his brow, as he stared down at their hands. "Makes sense," he murmured almost absently, thumb rubbing along the side of Stiles' fingers. "Are you hanging around the hospital with them?"

"Yeah," he replied softly, corner of his lips pulling up. "I mean, it's only been a day but I'm not planning on going anywhere until you're awake and okay."

A soft smile formed on his face, reminding the human of that same expression on Laura, only not nearly as radiant and beautiful as it was on Derek's. The werewolf lifted his head, green eyes sparkling once more, but this time in delight and happiness, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat. "Guess I've got a damn good reason to heal and wake my ass up, huh?"

Stiles grinned back just as wide, free hand slipping around the back of the other man's neck, pulling him close until their foreheads rested against one another. "Yeah. You do. Come back to us, Der."

"I will," he murmured, eyes drifting closed, smile remaining on his face. "I promise."

* * *

Laura woke him up the next morning.

Which was probably a mistake on her part and something she deeply regretted, given the scrunched up nose and the way she looked disgusted and amused all at the same time.

It took Stiles and his sleepy brain a minute to figure out why exactly she'd be looking at him like that, still riding the high of having spent the night in a dream where he and Derek had talked, deeply, a long conversation about themselves and their lives that he still remembered upon waking.

The realization about Laura's grossed out expression was like a slap to the face and he felt his cheeks burning as he stared at her, wide eyed and mortified, remembering how he'd jerked off in her brother's bed before falling asleep.

She let out a cackle at his expression before patting him on the head. "Get used to it, sweetie. No such thing as secrets amongst werewolves. Made puberty pretty damn interesting and more awkward than you could imagine."

Her words only served to make him flush harder, ducking his face in shame as he scurried to the bathroom to shower.

They took Laura's car to the hospital, having decided that Talia would spend the second night. Stiles didn't put up much of a fight, still reluctant to be left alone with Derek despite the bonding that had occurred in the dream the night before. But it was hard to tell if that was real, was genuine, if it would transfer over to real life and would continue after the werewolf woke up.

He felt lame and kind of stupid, but he was honestly scared their conversation would be for naught and Derek would forget all of it when he came out the coma.

Breakfast was picked up at a fast food joint along the way, Talia on the phone with Cora getting her order and arguing over whether or not a milkshake was an essential part of any balanced breakfast. Stiles was pretty sure the machines weren't even switched on 'til later, but said nothing from his slumped position in the backseat.

They arrived at Oak Creek General the second visiting hours began, finding Cora on the cot in the clothes she wore the night before, sneakers off and to the side. They ate on various chairs, Talia and Laura calling dibs on the armchairs, as the youngest Hale gave an update on Derek's night.

"His heart started pounding really fast at one point, probably about ten or so?" she informed them, pausing to sip her orange juice. "I asked the doc on-call and he said it was normal, that coupled with his brain activity, it meant he was just dreaming about something."

Stiles felt his heart skip a beat at the realization that Derek had experienced the same dream as him, three sets of werewolf eyes snapping over to him in curiosity and concern.

"We talked," he stated before taking a huge bite of his sausage biscuit, the ladies satisfied with his response judging by Talia's maternal smile, Laura's wicked grin, and Cora's eye roll as she turned away.

An hour or so after breakfast, Stiles was introduced to a dark-skinned man with a shaved head and a goatee named Dr Deaton who was a physician that specialized in werewolf ailments, including a rare supernatural coma. He let them know that Derek's vitals were fine, strong, no complications. The relief loosened some of the tension that had seized Stiles when the man walked into the room, leaving him free to ramble over whether his bald head was by choice or because he was losing his hair. Deaton gave him a flat look that said he wasn't impressed, Laura snickered to the side, Talia looked a mix of amused and chastising, and Cora rolled her eyes for the umpteenth time that morning.

Not much changed that day until Deaton returned some time after lunch—a fast food run Laura and Stiles had gone on—with Nurse Bitch—whose ID card said her name was "Cross" but Stiles refused to call her that out of principal—saying they were taking Derek to get some x-rays to check the healing of his broken ribs, forearm, and thigh.

It was the longest hour of Stiles' life as he paced the room awaiting news, Cora hurling a magazine at his head, and Laura drawing him into an explanation of the Marvel Cinematic Universe that only served to halfway distract him. When Derek returned, it was without any bandages or splints, his torso now covered in a light blue hospital gown covered in tiny magenta flowers that looked completely out of place on a werewolf.

The day passed much the same as the previous one, conversations about everything and nothing, Laura delighting in embarrassing stories about her brother, Stiles regaling her with tales of shenanigans that would've gotten him arrested were it not for his dad's position as sheriff. Visiting hours ended with Derek still not awake and everyone feeling their hopes sink a tiny amount.

Stiles spent the night in Derek's old bed once more, calling his dad to update him then flipping through the sketches again before drifting off to sleep, where he met up with his soul mate. The two spent their time talking, laughing, sharing jokes, further cementing their bond in the same way they would be if Derek were conscious.

On day three, Stiles met Erica, Boyd, and Isaac, Derek's three employees at the tattoo shop he owned, Triskele Tats. Erica he instantly adored for her brash manner of speaking and her loud cackle, complete with her head being thrown back and her blonde curls flying about. Boyd he admired for his stoic manner and dry one-liners, as well as the way he seemed a perfect compliment to his more vivacious and bold mate.

Isaac was a prick in Stiles' opinion and they spent half the afternoon exchanging catty remarks.

Which, strangely enough, made Stiles like the guy.

It was Laura's turn to spend the night, something that made Stiles a little nervous, but everything turned out to be okay. Even though he wasn't a fan of being woken up the next day by a pillow upside the head, whacked with more force than necessary thanks to Cora and her refusal to hold back for the fragile human.

At the hospital, everyone was starting to get antsy. Talia brought work with her and constantly left the room to make or take a call and Stiles had a feeling her days of hanging around Derek's room were numbered. Laura bought every sudoku and word search book available at the gift shop, claiming she wasn't quite smart enough for crosswords. Cora bought trashy romance novels from the same place that she and Stiles shared, forming a book club that ripped apart bodice rippers and got them in trouble with Nurse Bitch on multiple occasions for being too loud.

That night was Stiles' first one that he stayed in the hospital, now out of excuses and arguments to delay it. He spent the first few hours tossing and turning before finally passing out from exhaustion. His dream brought him an impatient yet bemused Derek who simply gathered him in his arms and assured him that he had nothing to worry about, that the werewolf was actually looking forward to waking up and seeing Stiles in person.

The morning found only Stiles regaining consciousness, but Derek was smiling in his sleep.

* * *

Day six brought a new face to Derek's room, a male nurse with a severe undercut straight out of an eighties new wave band named Schrader who was to perform physical therapy on Derek so his muscles didn't atrophy. The Hale females, along with Stiles, weren't too thrilled and with a flash of red eyes and a few saccharine sweet words from Talia, Schrader was teaching Stiles what to do so he could perform the exercises.

When Stiles told Derek about it that night, the werewolf actually thanked him and nuzzled up to him in a way he hadn't during any of their other interactions.

Day seven saw Talia returning to the office, Cora heading back to her own job the day after. Laura explained that the Hale family was loaded so they didn't technically need to work but they all chose to in order to not feel like freeloaders, to feel like they were contributing to society in some way.

"It also helps with the boredom," Stiles added, tossing another playing card into a baseball cap a few feet away on the floor.

"That, too," she agreed, saluting him with her water bottle.

Days went by.

Cora stopped spending the night at the hospital, then Talia cut back on her own sleepovers.

A Playstation 3 was brought in for Netflix and movies—and the occasional video game.

Stiles called his dad with nightly updates that slowly became monotonous on his end, despite neither of them saying it.

Laura began spending time away from Derek's room, first spending time in the children's ward playing and reading, then volunteering elsewhere.

And Stiles was growing bolder with Derek in real life.

Well, kind of.

It was mainly just holding his hand, but to Stiles, it was huge. Their fingers entwined perfectly, Derek's skin surprisingly soft thanks to werewolf healing—the bastard—his flesh hotter than the human's. And with his days being spent alone in the room, Stiles began talking to Derek out loud, mainly commentary on whatever trash daytime TV show he stumbled upon or rambles about the hospital staff. It was more nonsensical than the shit that normally came out of his mouth, but it wasn't like the older man could judge. Besides, from what Stiles understood, coma patients could hear surrounding noises and he was hoping the more he spoke, the more it would encourage the werewolf to wake up.

He considered reading to him but the trash novels he'd been checking out with Cora were not only cringe-worthy on several levels but also not something he wanted to waste his breath on. So he hit up a comic book store instead, already behind on the latest issues of his favorite series, picking up a few he figured Derek would enjoy.

He read each bubble, each box, described the action in every panel, laughed at the appropriate jokes, pointed out background objects that seemed insignificant but he knew had a bigger meaning. And at the end of each issue, he caught the barest hint of a smile on Derek's face and saw his finger twitch.

Progress.

* * *

It wasn't until his dad showed up at the hospital one Friday afternoon that Stiles realized he'd been there for a month. Days had began to blur together with the monotony, only ever broken up by a Hale visiting. Laura spent more time away than there at that point, explaining that her wolf was growing increasingly distressed with its packmate still being unconscious. Talia stopped by on her way home from work every day. Cora hung out twice a week when she had the day off. And Stiles practically lived in the room, his pillow taking up permanent res on the cot, the staff all knowing him by name, even Nurse Cross had a begrudging tolerance for his existence at that point.

The sheriff showed with Laura while Talia and Deaton had discussed moving Derek to a long-term care facility, Stiles listening in as he sat by the patient's bed, holding on to his soul mate's hand. The smell of rem oil and Old Spice was so out of place that even Stiles could pick it up with his human nose and his head snapped to the door, taking in his old man in a pair of well-loved jeans, a Henley with the sleeves shoved up to his elbows, and a tired smile on his face. Stiles didn't hesitate to jump out of his seat and rush over, damn near knocking his dad down with the force of his hug. His dad chuckled, returning the embrace with a couple back slaps, hugging him hard like only his dad could do.

"Good to see you, too, kiddo."

Dinner was at the Hale house, Talia insisting that Stiles actually have a home-cooked meal for once, something that got him a disapproving and curious look from his dad that he ignored. Conversation was light for the most part, Laura explaining that she recognized the sheriff from phone pics Stiles had shown her and saving him from having to deal with Nurse Cross, joking it was now her job to rescue Stilinski men from her bitchy clutches. His dad gave a rundown of happenings in Beacon Hills, passing on messages from Stiles' friends, including a threat from Lydia for him having missed her Fourth of July party.

After they were done eating, the two Stilinskis headed to the front porch, taking up res on the rocking chairs where Stiles talked his dad's ear off about Derek and how he felt so much closer to the werewolf now yet still so very distant, like he was a stranger.

"It's hard to explain," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, elbows on his knees as his dad rocked his chair in a rhythmic motion, the creaking adding to the symphony of sounds the summer night was singing to them.

"I think I get it," his dad stated, small smile tugging at his lips. "You know the dream version of Derek well, know what it's like to be with him, talk to him, hold him. But the Derek in reality is still unconscious and hasn't said a single word to you. You don't know if all that bonding you've done in your dreams will translate over if Derek wakes up."

" _When_ ," he insisted, leg bouncing, hands clasped between his widely spread knees. " _When_ Derek wakes up."

His dad sighed, fabric shuffling as he folded his arms tightly, a sign he was slipping into his Tough Dad role; not quite as bad as Sheriff Mode, but still no one to fuck with.

"I think it's time to face reality, kid," he gently urged with a firmness to his words. "It's been a month and Derek's no closer to regaining consciousness than he was the day of the accident. Talia mentioned something about a long-term care facility and that's usually when there's zero chance of someone coming out a coma any time soon."

Stiles stared out at the dark yard, his vision only as far as the spotlights on the side of the house could illuminate. A whole lotta dirt for a driveway, grass that was becoming patchy and in need of a good mowing, the black shadows of a tree line in the distance where an owl was hooting and cicadas were buzzing and crickets were chirping. He knew what his dad was saying was true, but... But he felt like if he were to agree, to let himself admit that he'd had those very same thoughts, it would be like giving up on Derek, on his soul mate, and there was no way in hell he was doing that. If ten years from now, Derek was still in a coma, then Stiles would still be visiting him every day, reading him comic books and binge-watching MCU shows with his rambling commentary.

"You can't put your life on hold forever."

Stiles ducked his head, stared at the wood boards between his sneakered feet. His dad had read his mind, just like he'd always been able to do. And while he knew the older man had once again made a very valid point, he still couldn't agree out loud.

His heart hurt just thinking about it all, how he had plans for his future, _big_ plans. Earning his criminal justice degree, getting a job alongside his dad at the Beacon County Sheriffs Department, buying a house, getting married, having a family.

But he always saw his soul mate by his side for most of that, always saw himself coming home after a long shift to complain to Derek about this delinquent and that difficult case, always saw himself cooking meals with him and eating around the table with kids in between them and smiles all around.

Chances of that happening were slim now. And if he were to give up on Derek and go on with his life, those chances practically disappeared.

"Dad," he began tremulously, his hands shaking where they hung between his knees, eyes still fixed on the porch.

"You being stuck in that room all the time?" his dad pointed out and he lifted his head at that, staring straight ahead as he pressed his lips into a hard line.

He wasn't _stuck_. He _chose_ to be there, to spend his days there. And it wasn't like he was there twenty-four/seven. He spent time with the Hales in their home, had game nights, helped cook dinner, taught Talia the fine art of Wii Sports and Laura how to make his mom's borscht and Cora how to drive a stick. He was practically part of the family at that point and okay, yes, he spent more time at the hospital than anywhere else, but...

That was his fucking _soul mate_.

"It's not good for you," his dad went on, his rocking paused, his upper body angled towards his son and his blue eyes fixed on them, uncaring about the lack of returned eye contact. "And if your presence there really _was_ gonna make a difference, don't you think it would've done so by now?"

Stiles sniffed, staring down at his trembling hands, licking his lips. "He needs time to heal," he argued weakly, voice shaky and low. He barely believed the words himself, his point not convincing either of them.

A hand clasped his shoulder, thumb rubbing at his collarbone in a familiar way. "And you need time to grow and explore all life has to offer before you go tying yourself to someone else."

A white envelope entered his line of vision, typed address made out to " _Mieczyslaw Stilinski_ ", return address containing the logo for Stanford University. He didn't bother opening it—despite the fact that the seal had already been broken, most likely his dad checking to see if it had to do with tuition—knowing what it already contained. Lydia had text him a few days prior saying she'd received a letter reminding her of upcoming dates for the fall semester, when registration took place, move-in day, first day of class. And he knew his dad was handing it to him as a not-so-subtle hint that he needed to go back to school, that his place was in Palo Alto, not Oak Creek General.

He took the envelope, turned it over and over in his hands as he stared blankly at it, mind churning, whirring, speeding through a million thoughts, all of which came back to one final belief.

"I'm not giving up on Derek."

"Son, I thi—"

"No," he interrupted, rising to his feet as his fingers curled into fists, crushing the envelope and the letter inside. "I don't care what you or anyone else thinks or feels or believes or whatever. Derek needs me, okay?" He raised his shaking hand, pressing the crumpled envelope to his chest. "When he wakes up, it'll be for me. I'm not abandoning him."

His dad's blue eyes narrowed and his lips pulled so that his bottom teeth were on display, the sheriff's usual face when annoyed and pissed at whatever shit his son was pulling. But Stiles wasn't backing down, wasn't changing his mind, wasn't about to feel bad or remorseful or any other shit like that. He was staying steadfast in his beliefs and everyone—including his dad—could kiss his ass.

Metaphorically, of course.

"I really think you should take a moment and think it through, weigh your options, maybe even sleep on it," his dad implored, giving the younger man a pointed look that said he didn't really have a choice in the matter.

A million arguments over the fact that he was eighteen and an adult came to mind, were just on the tip of his tongue. But every time he'd pointed those things out, he was reminded that he still lived under his dad's roof and therefore was under his dad's jurisdiction. Despite all the time he'd spent in Oak Creek , his legal residence was still the Stilinski home back in Beacon Hills. So until the day he fully moved out, he had no choice but to just go along with what his dad was saying.

He still maintained the fact that there was no fucking way in hell he was changing his position on this. But he could still appease and placate, could still pretend that he'd thought about it and come to the decision that he was better suited to stay in Oak Creek, that he was deferring a semester, a year, however long it took for Derek to wake up.

The thought of it was daunting, but he was willing to do it, willing to wait. This was his soul mate. He was gonna be worth it.

"Okay," he replied weakly, clearing his throat. "I'll think about it."

His dad's smile was tight, like he knew Stiles was full of shit and was just trying to end an argument before it really got going. "All right, kiddo," he replied, standing up and drawing his son into a hug that was immediately returned.

* * *

The thing with soul mates was that one didn't even need a werewolf nose or the ability to hear a heartbeat to know something was up. Like how Derek took one look at Stiles' face and immediately knew something was wrong, voicing his concern soon after Stiles had entered their unconscious space.

The human climbed onto his lap, straddling him, arms wrapped around his torso as he buried his face in the crook of Derek's neck. Muscular arms slid around him, held him close, a nose nuzzling against his ear, a low whimper sounding out.

"Stiles?" he prompted gently, hand rubbing up and down the leaner man's back in a soothing manner.

"My dad wants me to go to school."

The werewolf's head reared back in confusion, his head tilting to the side. "I though you already were going to Stanford."

"I am," he agreed, sniffing, and trying to cuddle closer on the fluffy couch that he'd grown familiar with and hoped like hell existed somewhere in real life because he was buying the shit out of it—or rather, getting Derek to buy the shit out of it, since he was the one that was apparently loaded. "But it's summer break right now. Fall semester starts soon and he wants me to leave you and go back to Palo Alto."

The hand on his back froze, Derek's entire body tensing up all over as he inhaled sharply and held it. Stiles lifted his head, brow drawn in concern, eyes flitting over the werewolf's face as he tried to figure out what the fuck just happened.

"What month is it?" the older man asked, eyes and voice distant, like he wasn't actually there with Stiles—so to speak anyway.

"July," he answered uneasily. "The eighteenth to be exact. Why? What's up?"

Derek completely pulled his arms away, letting them fall to his sides as he flopped back against the couch, staring at something over the human's shoulder. Stiles peered behind himself, finding nothing in particular, just more white on white on white, curious frown growing as he turned back to his soul mate.

"Der?"

"You should go."

His heart stopped in his chest, breath catching in his frozen lungs. Surely he was mistaken, he misheard the other man or Derek misspoke, _something_ because no way did he just tell him to...

"Wha—?"

"To school. You should go to school." He nodded to himself, green eyes returning to Stiles' brown ones with a seriousness in them that hadn't been seen since he was told he was in a coma. "I've been unconscious for a _month_ so chances are getting pretty fucking slim regarding me waking up. You shouldn't throw your life away and waste it waiting for something that's not gonna happen."

Okay, he knew this was a dream, but was he fucking hallucinating? He had to be hallucinating. He was totally hallucinating.

"I'm sor—"

"You promised," Stiles blurted out, uncaring about apologies or why they were being uttered. He just... Derek _promised_.

"I know," the werewolf responded lowly, eyes turning down at the corners, brow furrowing, green orbs shiny and wet and while Stiles couldn't sniff chemosignals, he was sure the older man reeked of upset and remorse. "But it's better this way. You're twenty. You have your whole life in front of you and you should do what your dad said. Go to college, fall in love, fall out of love, get a job, a house, a dog, whatever you want. You should just give up on me."

Stiles gaped at the beautiful broken man before him in disbelief and shock, mind strangely blank for what was probably the first time ever. He couldn't think of what to say, how to feel, how to react. But he knew he should argue, deep down he was aware of that much, and he struggled to come up with something to get his point across, to make Derek see how fucking ridiculous and idiotic his suggestion was. But all that came out was a weak:

"Fuck you."

"Stiles," Derek began, straightening up in his seat, eyes now pleading, begging the human to see his way, to hear him out.

But Stiles was having none of it, started shaking his head vehemently as he climbed off Derek's lap and stood on his own two feet. "No. Fuck you, okay?" he repeated, anger swelling up inside as he glared down at the still seated man, pointing a shaking finger at him. "You promised me you'd wake up and you'd do it for me. And now you want me to leave you and date someone else, fall in love with someone else?" He scrunched his face up in disbelief as he gestured to the side at nothing, at a hypothetical romantic partner that was never going to exist for Stiles because they weren't Derek. "I'm already in love with _you_ , you asshole. You're it for me, coma or no coma. But apparently you don't feel the same way about me, otherwise you wouldn't be telling me to walk away."

"Stiles," the werewolf said again, this time more urgently, scooting to the edge of the couch as he reached for the younger man.

Stiles pulled his hand out of reach, stepped back a pace or two, and glared. "Forget it. You want me to go, I'll fucking go. Have a good coma, Derek."

With that, he pinched his side, jolting himself awake, Derek's distraught face the last thing he saw.

* * *

He'd been awake for a total of ten minutes when Laura burst in through their shared bathroom, hair a mess, panting wildly, eyes glowing gold as she struggled to rein in her wolf. Stiles immediately bolted upright in bed, legs flailing and kicking the comforter, tangling it up in his legs.

"What? What is it? What happened?"

She panted a few more times, trying still to steady herself, swallowing hard before finally speaking. "It's Derek," she informed him.

His heart stopped dead in his chest, jaw slowly dropping. Oh fuck. Something terrible had happened to Derek and it was all his fault. He'd been a total ass to his soul mate, had told him off, had left him, and now...now he was taking a turn for the worst or was dead or, or, or...

"He won't stop growling."

Or was unable to stop growling.

Wait, what?

His eyes narrowed in confusion, lips pursing, head slightly jerking in surprise. "Wait, what?"

Laura took a couple deep breaths, the gold fading from her eyes as she reined in her control and regained her humanity. "Deaton just called Mom. Apparently Derek is still completely unconscious, but is growling non-stop and snarling at anyone who comes near. We're all headed down there in the hopes that pack and alpha will help calm him. I don't need to ask if you're co—"

His rush to get up resulted in him getting even more tangled in the comforter, flailing out of bed and faceplanting onto the floor.

* * *

The growls could be heard the second they got off the elevator on the third floor.

Or at least they were audible to Stiles and his dad at that point. The Hale ladies heard it when they got out the parked Range Rover.

They rushed down the hallway, coming to a stop outside of Derek's room where Nurse Cross and a giant asshole orderly named Brunski—whose demise Stiles had plotted numerous times—stopped them, blocking the door. Deaton soon joined them, explaining that while Derek's brain activity showed he was still technically comatose, he was becoming near feral. He pulled Talia aside, discussing a plan to have her alpha Derek into submission, to try and appeal to his wolf since the human part of him was still unconscious, and Stiles totally tuned it all out.

Because his soul mate was in there, growling, whining pitifully, bed creaking and groaning as he thrashed around. Stiles could hear the jangle of metal, his mind supplying him with the thought of chains, the images of Derek restrained by the metal links bombarding him and making his chest constrict. He needed to get in there, needed to find out what was wrong with his soul mate, needed to calm him down and free him and make him okay again.

Because it was his fault that this was happening. If he hadn't fought with Derek during the dream, if he hadn't said goodbye and walked away like that...

His vision grew wavy with unshed tears, his hands trembling as he put one on his hip, the other shoved in his hair. His breathing was just as tremulous, every exhale shaky through wobbling parted lips, and he just knew he was gonna have a fucking breakdown right there in that hospital corridor because Nurse Bitch was once again preventing him from getting to his soul mate.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder, thumb rubbing his collarbone and he turned his head to find his dad giving him a sympathetic smile, sad look in his blue eyes. He got it.

With a final squeeze, his dad let go of him and stepped over to the brick wall of an orderly Brunski, clapping a hand on his shoulder and angling him away from the door, leaning in close to talk security with him. Laura immediately understood what was going on and with a quick glance and nod in Cora's direction, the two of them rushed Nurse Cross, distracting her with the job of trying to keep them out. Talia and Deaton noticed the ruckus and joined in to help the nurse, Brunski diverting his attention toward them.

Everyone now distracted, Stiles slipped past them and into the room.

His eyes immediately found Derek, the chains around his wrists bolted to the floor on either side of the bed. The werewolf's eyes were screwed shut tight, features shifted, fangs on display as he snarled in his sleep.

"Der?" he murmured, voice wavering, heart pounding. But not out of fear, no, his soul mate would never hurt him. It was out of worry, concern, distress. His mate was upset and chained up like a fucking animal thanks to the assholes at this hospital.

Thanks to himself.

Derek's head snapped to him, snarls cutting off, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. A low rumbling growl started up, sounding more pleased than agitated, and he tried reaching towards Stiles only to get stopped by the chains. The growls turned angry and he snarled louder than ever, yanking at his restraints in an effort to break them.

"Hey, whoa, no," Stiles called out, hands flying out in front of him as he rushed to the bed. "Don't do that, okay? Just calm down, big guy." He laid his hands on the werewolf's forearms and put as much strength as possible into pushing them down, into pushing _Derek_ down. He was barely successful so he climbed on the bed, standing on his knees in order to use his body weight for leverage.

Behind him Brunski was yelling about the idiot in the room with a feral wolf, his dad angrily pointing out that was his _son_ Brunski was insulting, Laura adding on that he was also Derek's mate and the one least likely to get hurt by him. Stiles tuned it all out, focused on the werewolf he was now straddling, sliding his hands up ink-covered arms. Derek had calmed significantly, the snarls and growls gone, replaced by whimpers and whines as he continued tugging at his restraints, hands desperately trying to get to his mate.

"It's okay, big guy," Stiles murmured, sliding his hands back down until they were clasped with Derek's, entwining their fingers. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

The words seemed to settle something inside the older man, a relieved exhale leaving him as he slumped back on the bed. His features shifted back to human as the tension left his body, Stiles feeling his own muscles relax, and soon after, Derek's eyelids began to flutter open.

Holy shit.

His eyes weren't green like Stiles had believed they were, but an amalgam of green, gold, gray, and brown, one color bleeding into another as the irises spread out from his pupils. And they were the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever seen.

The older man exhaled shakily, those beautiful orbs of his flicking about over the human's face, lips parted to reveal the tips of bunny teeth. "Stiles?" he questioned in a mix of confusion and hope, voice rough from a month of disuse.

But craggily or not, it was the most beautiful thing Stiles had ever heard, his soul mate saying his name out loud for the first time ever, and a smile came to his face, eyes watering once again. "Yeah, Der. It's me," he whispered back, squeezing the werewolf's hand and feeling it weakly returned.

Derek stared for another long moment before a huge grin broke out on his face, crinkling his eyes and scrunching up his nose in an adorable way. "I was right," he muttered absently. "I never did get the color of your eyes right."

He let out a laugh, ducking his head momentarily. "It's okay. You have the rest of our lives to perfect it. And with a live model, too."

The werewolf's grin grew, nostrils flaring as he scented the room once more before he glanced around it. "You really were here the whole time, huh?" he commented with slight awe before turning back to his mate with a smirk. "Kinda creepy. You hanging around, watching me sleep." He bucked his hips to jostled Stiles, the human's hands tightening their grip on his, whiskey eyes coming across the bottom of a now familiar tattoo.

Part of Captain America's shield, his leg, his fist...

A smirk of his own formed on Stiles' face and he got comfortable on Derek's lap, staring down at his soul mate who was now looking back at him. "I prefer to think of it as being present while you were unconscious."


End file.
